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by kayjayuu



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Slice of Life, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayjayuu/pseuds/kayjayuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's where Jon and Porthos are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mareel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mareel/gifts).



The taxi transport sped smoothly along the bluff's edge, with a waning quarter moon keeping pace alongside as Malcolm watched its cross-hatched reflection bounce over light Pacific swells. He never minded this ride, really, especially when heading south, what with spectacular views all around and a bed waiting fifteen minutes ahead. But arriving in the wee hours local time was never ideal, especially when his own internal, shift-work clock was set several hours different.

Couldn't be helped though. Neither could the mentally taxing negotiations at HQ between god-knows-who-or-what pre-Federation members, from which Jon had extricated himself yesterday in order to meet Malcolm at the house. Which they'd both assumed would have been closer to eight in the evening instead of two forty-five a.m, Starfleet Standard.

He stifled a yawn, mildly surprised. May have been the travel. Or the extra time he put into that last-minute lockup, dealing with a nervous crewman returned from his first flight who'd had more liquor than he could keep down. Captain Sokolov wouldn't have stood for it, but Malcolm knew that the young man owned his mistake, and he couldn't quite leave a promising career precariously balancing on a moment of bad judgment. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd been Security -- _that_ would have been entirely different. But Astrometrics? Staring at star charts day in and day out would be enough to drive anyone to the bottle.

 _Hm._ Malcolm almost smiled -- maybe Jon's command style was rubbing off on him after all.

He allowed his thoughts to drift away from work, clearing his mind for the final few minutes until the road twisted round a bend and into the subdued lights peeking out one by one from the pines shrouding the emerging hillside. Clusters of buildings shadowed the roadside as they passed, an occasional back window glowing here and there. As with most small towns anywhere, Cambria slept in the dark. That attracted both Jon and himself after years of not only being on call twenty-four seven, but of living in a metal bubble of artificial days and nights. Here, life was lived differently than what they'd been accustomed to with Starfleet. Worth exploring, for a change, as Jon had said more than a year before.

Still, they remained tied to careers that removed them now and again from the world of regular people. Jon’s long-expected Admiralty and duties to the Chief of Staff as Deputy kept him earthbound; Malcolm’s move through the ranks to the _Robinson’s_ Executive Officer took him away for weeks at a time in pursuit of an eventual captaincy they both knew he wanted and deserved.

They endured the separation. Sometimes Malcolm wondered how.

Idle anxieties slipped away as they turned a familiar corner, climbing slowly up the tree-covered hill that rose above the rest of the town below, with only the Pacific further to the west. Deep in the woods a passing glimmer caught his eye once or twice -- neighbors, measured in an acre or two rather than the space of a starship wall. The vehicle slowed and curved through an unassuming gateway composed of two gnarled posts, and Malcolm sat up straight to gather himself more than anything he'd kept with him. He stole a glance or two toward the house ahead, its low profile hidden behind well-established landscaping. Only the soft aura of two sentry lights at the bottom landing indicated more than empty land, at least at this hour.

"May I help with your bag, sir?" The driver's words interrupted Malcolm's focus as they stopped, and he peered at the eyes in the mirror. Mona had the night off, she would have known his routine. Although the lack of conversation along the way had been a pleasant change. That was more Jon's department when they traveled together.

"No, thank you. I have it from here," he replied, beating the driver to the door and sliding out of the backseat. The front window lowered, and Malcolm nodded, keeping one eye on the steps nearby. "On account, if you would, please. Good evening."

"Very good, sir. Good evening."

The ground underneath the transport crackled lightly as it made its way back down the drive, and eventually Malcolm was left with the quiet of a neighborhood hours after midnight and some time before dawn. He could make out a rhythmic wash of the ocean in the distance, down the hill a few hundred meters, the sound buffered by the rising pines and occasional house between them. Certainly different from the cold metal sterility of overly-familiar starship hallways in the middle of the night.

His gaze moved up the gradual rise of the low-slung steps, as well as to either side, probing the shadows out of habit rather than out of necessity. They did, after all, have security installed, and Malcolm had designed the perimeter himself. Even though Jon had declared the final iteration as being tougher to crack than Starfleet HQ, at the time Malcolm had noted the pride in his chiding, as well as the absence of any real protest. Neither he nor Jon were fools; they had made enemies as well as friends during their decade aboard _Enterprise_. And even the unassuming silence of a small town night could be deceiving.

He shouldered the weight of his duffle, and once up the first step he was able to see a warm glow spilling through the foyer sidelights. On impulse, he took the remaining steps nearly all two at a time, pausing at the door to peer through the opaque glass and smooth his collar, just in case, as the outside entry light eased brighter. No movement; the rest of the house was understandably dark -- Jon was in bed, as expected. Still, Malcolm quelled a bit of disappointment as he entered his code for the lock.

A sharp sniff through the door jamb low to the right stopped him. He waited, a small grin passing over his face as it happened again, this time accompanied by a short whine. He finished the code and quickly cracked the door inward, stooping at once to pass a hand through the opening. Beyond anything Malcolm could prevent, Porthos shoved his way through with an excited yelp.

"Yes, it's me, yes, boy. Hullo, yes, oh _my_." Words of assurance tumbled out of Malcolm as fast as Porthos could reply with licks, leaps, and huffs. "Good Porthos, yes! I missed you _too_ , yes. Oh my!" Malcolm glanced through the opening for a brief moment, this time relieved that nothing stirred inside. Kneeling in what he knew to be a vain attempt at calming things, he closed the door and placed his full attention on the dog, now squirming, wriggling, and doing his best to knock Malcolm to the ground, where he would have better access to explaining how excited he was to see his missing master.

"Let's not wake your father up, now. Shhhh, yes, I'm happy too, I missed you, yes." The softer his voice went, the smaller the jumps that Porthos made, although his whipping tail and panting tongue continued to betray his excitement. Malcolm ran his hands over the dog's strong sides, itched his velvet ears, wiped the corner of his ever-moving eyes. He'd missed him, indeed.

"Look, let's... walk. We'll take a walk, all right?" He rose, leaving his duffle where it had settled on the stoop, and Porthos momentarily froze in place at the Magic Words, eyes gleaming and ears alert. "Yes, walk, go. Go on." Malcolm waved toward the steps, and didn't need to repeat himself as Porthos skipped down the path, nose to the ground but still glancing back once in a while to make sure Malcolm was following. "Work off that excess energy. I don't know what Jon was talking about. Lazying around, you?"

Malcolm descended the steps he'd just climbed, keeping a close eye on Porthos while finally allowing himself to take in more than simply trees and house and the potential for intruders. A very slight breeze stirred the pines, revealing a few of the brighter stars through their branches. A passing cloud had moved away from the moon, casting Malcolm's dim shadow ahead of his path. The night air was chilly and not-yet-damp, but Jon said fog would be coming with the sunrise, as Cambria was usually spared the regional heat of the season. A cricket counted off to his left, and every now and then Porthos announced his presence by emerging from rattling bushes lining the rock-strewn drive.

Malcolm paused at the end, near the post gate, heeling the dog as he growled low. Lights on the road put him on alert, squinting into the brightness carried past him as a vehicle squeaked to a slow halt. An interior light flashed on, and Malcolm eased up at the familiar voice.

"Commander Reed! I thought the Admiral said you were coming day after tomorrow."

"Sergeant Rahal, I feel safer already," Malcolm replied. "Change in plans, this time to our advantage." He looked over the dark vehicle now beside him. "Ah, the new transports? No wonder I didn't recognize you."

"Shiny new. All the latest, although I'm sure you could find things to overhaul." The officer winked, showing off the interior as Malcolm leaned in. "Dutronic scanners, even. I'd love to find something to use it on, just to break the lovely monotony around here."

Malcolm smiled. "I was about to ask if things had changed _that_ much since I was here last month."

"No sir, just the occasional stray dog or lost beachcomber, as usual. Not including Porthos, of course. Or Admiral Archer," Rahal reassured him. "But an upgrade is an upgrade, and we'll take it, especially based on your recommendations."

"Good to know they're staying out of trouble while I'm away." He made mental note of an outdated module on the dash, but stayed quiet about it -- no need to burst Rahal's balloon over delayed requisitions. Jupiter Station's yahoos could be bad enough, but he was certain dealing at the local level would be downright maddening. Still, improvements were always welcome, and Sergeant Rahal knew he loved to tinker.

A pair of paws landed on the side of his leg, accompanied by a rather insistent snuffling canine nose testing the open window. This prompted Rahal to dig through a box on the seat beside him.

"Oh, of course, Master Porthos, just a moment." He retrieved a bread-sized slice of cheese, which Porthos gobbled up in one go. "Cheddar, I believe it _was_." Rahal laughed as his now-empty hand continued to be an object of extreme interest.

Malcolm shook his head with a chuckle. "He knows you far too well, Sergeant."

"He does. And so does Miguel, he always doubles up on my sandwiches." He lowered his voice, settling a finger beside his nose. "Needless to say, he doesn't know he's contributing to the morale and happiness of the First Line of Defense."

Nodding, Malcolm repeated the gesture, then ruffled Porthos' alert ears. "That's quite enough happiness for the moment, love," he said, guiding him back to all fours and admonishing him to stay. Porthos glanced between the two men before sitting quite readily, panting -- and looking for all the world as if he were really _smiling_ \-- at Malcolm's feet.

"I suppose you've just arrived, so I should let you get settled in, and I have my exciting rounds to make," said Rahal as he switched the dome light off and poked at one of several screens. "Lily and Soong have been eager for further training with you, so if there's a chance you could come by the station...?"

"Perhaps the weekend? I don't know Jon's plans yet." Malcolm glanced up the drive at the thought of him. He patted the roof of the car. "I look forward to it, Sergeant."

Rahal smiled, watching for Porthos as he moved slowly down the road. "As do we. Rest well."

Malcolm stepped back with a wave, soon left alone with Porthos still sitting beside him, the moon and the trees and the cricket remaining. Another half-yawn reminded him of the time. He gave a sharp pat to his leg, and Porthos followed much more calmly than he had headed out, although still stealing looks up his master.

It astounded Malcolm, sometimes, how much he felt a part of two worlds, both very different and yet connected. Growing up in a family of money and tradition as well as sea-faring adventure, Malcolm had experienced the comforts of a well-kept household and the rigid expectations of endurance of duty. A line of Royal Navy men, submariners, sailors all, it was his birthright and his role in life. He'd taken to the stars instead, a path that was once a disappointment to his father -- perhaps still, he suspected -- but a road that led to the same endurance, the same isolation, buffeted and pushed along by the winds of space instead of ocean and tide. He’d been raised to believe that a life worth living was about self-denial, deprivation, honor and responsibility ahead of personal concerns. 

And he'd met those expectations head-on, not only offering up life and limb for Captain and crew, as his venerated Uncle Archibald had done, but doing so time and time again. The years serving with Jon aboard _Enterprise_ had proven his worth, independent of the perfection of a skill or the commendation from a superior to know he'd done his job, and done it well. He'd protected, served, and brought honor to the Reed name.

He’d simply never expected a softly wooded path under moonlight at the end of the day. Or a partner to share it with. And yet....

He took the steps one at a time, comfortable enough now to be lost in his thoughts. Near the top landing he noticed Porthos was, indeed, favoring his right foreleg. He knelt, accepting happy licks in return for rolling muscle and bone gently between his fingers. Nothing seemed outwardly sore, or particularly reactive to his touch. Perhaps a muscle strain, nothing more. But Phlox was in San Francisco, Jon had said, so a visit to be certain wasn’t out of the question. Looking deep into brown eyes as he cupped the soft face with both hands, Malcolm pursed his lips.

“You’re fine, aren’t you.” Porthos sneezed in response. “By strict definition, then.” He scratched behind his floppy ears, then rose and gathered the duffle bag from where he’d left it, easing the front door open. “Off we go, then. Bedtime.”

The house was noticeably quieter than outside, save for the clicking of canine claws on the stone tile entry. Malcolm waved a hand past a panel and low level lights rose gradually to follow his movement down the hallway. By force of habit, he made rounds on the pretense of putting away the few items he had packed. The kitchen sat neat and organized, with morning tea set out underneath the stained glass window near the sink. A banana peel and a crumpled takeout box from Madame Chang’s occupied the otherwise empty bin -- Jon seldom cooked when alone. Porthos ambled over to sniff around his water bowl as Malcolm topped it off, then followed Malcolm around, stopping to scratch along the way. The living room and dining area likewise belied someone actively living there, other than a pair of running shoes idly toed off in a corner.

But a leather reading chair in a nook by the back deck held two books, one splayed open and crooked upside down over the other, along with a small stack on an oak side table. Malcolm noted in passing the gradually growing collection of classic tomes nestled next to his own collection of historic battles on the built-in shelves nearby, otherwise spare save for a smiling photograph of the two of them in the backyard with Porthos -- apparently Jon spent more off time here than in his home office down the hall. Which could only be a good thing, Malcolm thought. Decades of living sparingly, of only taking along as much as you could comfortably carry in a pinch or afford to lose along the way took time and effort to undo, to become at ease with the permanence of a regular daily life that most people took for granted.

He paused at the end of the hall, setting his now-lighter bag down outside of the guest bath. May as well get clean without disturbing Jon. Porthos settled in on the mat in front of the sink as he showered, only shifting over as Malcolm wiped down the stall and replaced the towel that was now around his waist. Dirty clothes in hand, he waved off lights behind him on his way to the master suite, picking up his duffle and nudging the door open the rest of the way.

Slivers of moonlight spilled through the window on the other side of the room, not really illuminating much else but the chest of drawers along the wall. Malcolm crept through the room, pausing only to observe if the shadowy lump in the bedcovers was moving at all. He wasn’t. He _was_ breathing, though, and the sound washed gently over Malcolm with the sense of a slow wave on the beach shifting sands underneath bare feet. For a moment he was nearly pulled under, something that happened with predictability on days such as these, when sensing Jon felt like something new that quickened Malcolm’s heart.

Absence, and all that, he supposed. He savored the feelings nonetheless.

Porthos began to shuffle around in his own bed by the window, so Malcolm closed the lavatory door behind him before turning on the light. He blinked, the small bright room much more lived in than the rest of the house -- personal items, toiletries, even a towel crumpled on the floor. All around him, everything smelled of Jon, pulling Malcolm’s thoughts back to the start of everything, those first stolen nights in Captain’s quarters. While Jon’s outer room rightly had remained inscrutably personal to him alone throughout much of their early mission, no one but a trusted steward had access to his bathroom, where one by one Malcolm’s things had appeared as time passed. A toothbrush, a spare shaver, proper personal care products. Everything necessary to be up and on duty at a moment’s notice, wherever one found oneself to be at the time. And for whatever reason.

After tossing clothes in hand into the hamper, bit by bit he emptied his toiletries bag, feeling a bit less temporary with each item. Then, as now, there was no “Malcolm’s side” or “Jon’s shelf” to the counter or cabinet. Everything simply fit in eventually with everything else, their things mixed together but neatly. By the time the bag was empty, it all looked very much as if Malcolm was never away. He surveyed the collection, satisfied, but caught tired eyes looked back at him from the medicine chest. A few hours of sleep, then, he wanted to be fresh for the actual morning. Before leaving, he stole a quick pass at one of Jon’s shirts hanging on the back of the door, taking in the lingering cologne, all spice and musk, the one that said "Jon" without speaking a single word, the one Malcolm had given him many years ago. Jon had since used nothing else.

He entered the still-dark bedroom to the slight thumping of a tail. He shushed Porthos gently, and a heavy, contented sigh punctuated the stillness that followed. The dog still knew when and who to obey, from years of both masters coming in to quarters at all hours, not wanting to disturb the other’s much needed sleep. Some necessary adjustments would be slow in coming, it seemed.

Just as it took a few days’ acclimation every time Malcolm returned to duty, he felt momentarily exposed after placing the folded towel onto a nearby chair. He stood by his side of their bed, feeling altogether too many things -- fatigue, desire, comfort, normalcy all rolled into the space of a few seconds’ hesitation. Should he wake him? Let him slumber on, alone? Top of the covers, or underneath? Damn what a few weeks of being apart did to Malcolm’s confidence over the silliest things, sometimes. He’d learned to read the man and his needs over years, without words, nothing was going to change that, least of all a bit of time. So he lifted the blanket and slipped into the body heat beside Jon’s back, carefully managing his own pillow so as not to dislodge any other.

He’d only just settled in a bit when Jon stirred, lifting his head only just off his pillow. _“Mmmm...?”_ he purred over his shoulder toward Malcolm, in a cross between a query and what could have been half a thought.

 _“Shhh. Don’t wake, love.”_ Malcolm ran a hand gently over Jon’s arm, circling round his shoulder and down his back. _“Sleep.”_

 _“Hmmm....”_ Jon replied, barely moving any further in his twilight. A moment later Malcolm felt him relax again and sink into his pillow, and he slipped an arm over Jon’s waist, pulling close to spoon with him. Jon’s body radiated a comforting heat that Malcolm’s skin absorbed quickly; he hoped the difference wasn’t too jarring, but snoozing Jon didn’t seem to notice. And it felt marvelous.

He nestled into Jon’s neck, breathing in deeply as short prickly hairs tickled his nose. All thought went in two directions -- his body’s familiar reactions to lying naked with his lover, and his all-encompassing sense of home. He let the former run its course long enough to subside, unwilling to dislodge himself from where he belonged, even for release. There would be time, and knowing them it would be soon. But for now, Malcolm was willing to indulge in simple memories of Jon above him, Jon below him, Jon inside and around him. All the while remaining where he’d always found himself to be at his best, beside him.

He rested his forehead against Jon’s back, and slowly drifted off.

* * * * *

Malcolm sensed the empty bed more than he had noticed Jon getting up.

The chronometer said eight forty-one, so there was that. A bit of sleep. And after only five or so hours, the still-warm open space next to him felt completely out of place, despite weeks of sleeping alone aboard ship. Nice to be back to that part of normal so quickly. Still, Malcolm indulged in the luxury of staying put, moving over instead to occupy the comfy curve that Jon had left behind and stealing his pillow.

Light diffused against the opposite wall enough to warrant creating hills of blanket to shut it out for a few minutes more. He wasn’t tired, just a bit sleepy, but willed a slow motion start to his day to complete the disconnect between being here and being Commander Reed. No rush for anything, not yet. Simply warming up the senses and appreciating the things he only sporadically had access to -- a soft bed, actual daylight, the scent of his partner, no particular place to be. Time. He spent a few minutes weaving in and out of the edge of a lingering dream, and at eight fifty-seven decided Jon wasn’t coming back to bed. Not yet, anyway. Malcolm’s sitting up prompted Porthos into his morning stretch and yawn, followed by a total body shake and an upright tail that waved slowly, awaiting Malcolm’s next move.

He peeled back the covers and rose with a gradual stretch, giving Porthos a pat before pulling on a pair of pyjama trousers. Sounds of Jon tinkering in the kitchen filtered through the crack in the door; Malcolm wondered when he’d slipped from the bathroom, something he usually wouldn’t miss. Digging palms into his eyes, he vowed to be more observant. Soon enough, that is.

Porthos led the way out of the room, stopping insistently at the patio door. Malcolm peered down the hallway but couldn’t see what he heard... intermittent running water, spoons clinking against dishware. Porthos yipped, raising a paw to the glass.

“All right, you,” Malcolm conceded, pulling it open, raising his voice loud enough to be heard. “I’m taking _your_ dog out.” He thought he heard Jon laugh as he went onto the deck, smirking to himself.

The morning chill still hung in the air along with the predicted fog, which obscured any true sunshine but no longer held to the ground, allowing for the hope that it would dissipate shortly. Despite the dampness, the temperature wasn’t unbearable, even without a shirt, at least not for as long as Porthos would need. He followed the dog to the steps, then sat at the top as he watched him make his own rounds from bush to tree to edge of the green grass. No limp, no favoring any particular foot, and no interruption of his important watering duties. Malcolm sighed, folding his arms together and looking over treetops descending down the hill toward the still-invisible ocean. He wondered once again at how quickly he came to feel at ease in this place, when by all rights he was rarely here at all.

The door behind him closed quietly, and a moment later a small cup appeared at his shoulder, a bit of steam rising above the rim. He accepted with a smile, glancing back but scooting forward an inch or two as a foot stepped next to his and Jon managed to settle in directly behind Malcolm, on the same top rise, Jon’s front against Malcolm’s back, both facing the backyard. Once more, Jon was warm, or warmer at least. Malcolm turned his head and was greeted with a gentle kiss.

“Good morning,” Jon said low.

“Better morning now.” Malcolm licked his lips, then glanced in his own cup, frowning. “You have coffee?”

“And you have tea, don’t worry. Mona’s mother made a special batch and she insisted,” Jon said. “I have to report back later today.” He sipped carefully from his mug.

“Well, be sure to wash that down with some English Breakfast. I have to kiss you, after all.”

“Very true,” Jon replied, pulling Malcolm closer with his free arm. “What time did you get in? I was apparently out cold.”

“Far too late, about three. Some last minute loose ends to take care of, plus the transport rescheduled on me.” Malcolm savored the warmth of his tea as it eased down. “New driver, but he knew where to go at least, unlike the last one. And then Rahal chatted me up a bit while I was out with Porthos.”

On cue, the dog cut across the yard, chasing a bird.

“He was limping a bit, too, last night,” Malcolm continued, nodding to Porthos. “Not now, though. I suppose if Phlox is available we should take advantage.”

Jon shifted a little, amusement in his voice. “You know, the vet here is highly recommended.”

“Phlox is in town, you said. He knows Porthos, I’d rather see him, if it’s all the same.”

“Spoken like a true concerned parent.” He nuzzled into Malcolm, who felt Jon’s smile against his neck. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of irresistible when you’re worried?”

Malcolm relaxed. “Am I now? I suppose I’ll find all manner of things to be paranoid about the next few days, then.” Jon’s bare chest felt rather cozy. “At any rate, Rahal says his crew would like some training this weekend, but I didn’t want to commit to anything. Plans?” he asked.

“Not the weekend, no. We have a standing invitation tonight or tomorrow, though, with newly-minted _Doctor_ Cutler and her fiance, so your choice. Or neither, she said she completely understood if we were going to be sequestered away for a while.”

Malcolm’s eyebrows raised. “Blast and damn, I missed it. Wasn’t her graduation next month?” He thought a moment as Jon shook his head against him. “No, this month. Can’t keep schedules straight outside of the ship anymore.” Picking at the pyjama fabric on Jon’s knee, he mumbled. “Living two lives.”

“Well. Just for a while.” Jon’s voice was conciliatory and supportive, but he couldn’t completely mask his feelings either. He sighed. “Until you finish whipping the fleet into shape.”

“Need to make captain first.”

“That’ll come, and sooner than you think.”

“And you need to be Chief of Staff. So says my nefarious plan.”

Jon laughed. “Let’s not rush things, I’m still trying to get the hang of the Deputy’s desk.”

“You, running Starfleet, and me out blowing things up, without having to ask permission. It’s the natural order of the universe.” Malcolm tipped his head back until he could see Jon’s eyes, however awkward the position. Even upside down and sideways, it was a welcome view. “But yes, back to Liz, I suppose if she’s to continue being my proxy to Starfleet shindigs I should evaluate their relationship. Make certain it’s solid. Can’t have her running off with my boyfriend simply because he looks good in uniform.”

“No chance of that. I’m taken by the most remarkable Englishman. Handsome, brave, helluva kisser.”

“Oh, do tell,” Malcolm said, settling his head back into the crook between Jon’s neck and shoulder. “I could do with a good kiss myself.”

“We’ll be getting to that in a bit.”

Malcolm smiled and finished his tea. Any further bantering was interrupted by a sharp series of barks, as Porthos stood halfway into the bushes with only his tail showing. Malcolm leaned forward enough to separate from Jon, just as a squirrel darted out from another bush and rushed up a tree behind the still-barking dog.

“You... you missed him! Porthos!” Malcolm slumped back against Jon, feeling the laughter bouncing in his chest. “He completely missed him. Forget the local constabulary, I’ll have to requalify my _dog_.” He was only half-joking.

“ _Your_ dog now, eh?”

“He’s yours when he needs to relieve himself, and mine when I have to rely on him to keep you safe and sound in my absence.” The brown and white tail continued waving stiffly from the bush, and Malcolm found himself chuckling as well. Jon’s hand slid into Malcolm’s, and they both rested on Jon’s knee as Jon laid a kiss on Malcolm’s neck. He missed this. Quite a bit. He squeezed Jon’s hand, just because.

Malcolm sighed, content where he was. “Are you taking a run later? Down on the boardwalk?”

“Probably,” Jon said, finishing his coffee and setting both of their cups on the deck. “Weather’s been perfect lately -- once it clears.”

“Mm.” A slight breeze stirred past his face, smelling of ocean. “I could come along. If you’d like?”

“I would. Very much.”

“Some exercise, not on a treadmill. Sounds nice.” The words slipped lazily out of Malcolm’s mouth as an addendum, not apropos of anything in particular. He relished the way little conversations between them ebbed and flowed, not at all awkward or forced. Simply not necessary at times. Nice.

He could just make out the last house down the hill on the way to the sea now, the cream-colored adobe with the red tile roof that stood out beautifully against the backdrop of sparkling azure water when the sun was shining. At the moment, that sun was sitting behind a pine, a brightening disc hanging low in the mid-morning sky, still filtered through a thinning mist. Time felt suspended, for some reason, as if the fog kept the bustling world at bay. Malcolm was fine with that.

After a while, Jon leaned in over Malcolm’s shoulder. “I’ve been wondering,” he began, almost pausing. “I think we should expand the family.”

Malcolm nearly choked at the statement, focusing on Jon’s thumb as it drew lazy circles on Malcolm’s hand, to the exclusion of all else. “Wh-- now?” he managed to squeak out. They’d discussed this, all of this. “Ah. I... you -- we’re waiting, we decided. You’re far too busy, I’m not even here, it’s not the right time, yet.” Through his protests he felt Jon angle enough to look closely at him as he babbled on, until Jon shook his head, laughing.

“No, no. Mal, no no no,” he said through an obvious grin, shifting his arms closer around Malcolm. “Not kids, no. A sibling for Porthos.” He pointed out toward the yard.

“Oh.” Malcolm stopped short. And offered a quick thanks to whatever gods were out this time of morning. “Oh. Well then.” He shuffled around in Jon’s embrace until he could look at him properly, still close. “You want to get another dog? That’s just as much of a responsibility, you know. Plus, Porthos may not approve.”

“Porthos gets along with everyone and everything, he’d be fine.”

“He may not be fine having to share you.”

“And you,” Jon added. “But he already does that, shares us, and has his whole life.”

He glanced down the hill, seeing only a flash of brown and white in the brush. “I know what it’s like to have someone new in my territory.” He returned his attention to Jon, watching his mouth, of all things. “It can be stressful.” Malcolm found his answer in the way Jon’s lips pinched before he spoke.

“It’s just the two of us, most of the time. We’ve always been a team, even after he adopted _you_.” He shrugged one shoulder, looking out toward the Pacific, somewhere in the lifting fog. “Time keeps going, I’ve learned that.”

As if on cue, a happily panting Porthos emerged from who knows where at the bottom of the steps, coming up just far enough to insist on being acknowledged from both of them. After lots of licks and several sniffs of legs and bare feet, down he went again and around the other side of the house. They both wiped hands on their trousers, Jon withholding a snicker as Malcolm commented, grateful for the timely interruption.

“You want more doggy slobber, then. Well, who am I to stop that.” He adopted a sly look, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t suppose the timing of this has anything to do with a certain new Doctor who happens to have a fiance who, as I recall, _also_ has a beagle, and a rather comely one at that from what I've been told.”

Jon hid his smile, but not very well. “It’s possible, I suppose. Coincidentally, there’s a litter coming. I thought we could take a look at the mom, give it some thought.”

“You’re a sneaky one, you are.” He watched Jon for a long moment. “So, another boy, I’m guessing?”

“No sense in upsetting the balance in the house.” Jon’s grin broke through just as a patch or two of sunlight passed over them.

“Name? Ideas, at least.”

“Well... could stick with the theme.”

“‘D’Artagnan’ is not acceptable, Porthos plays second fiddle to no dog. Not on my watch.”

“That leaves Aramis or what -- Athos?”

“Yes, if you insist on staying with the Musketeers. Although I’m not opposed to the idea, really.” Malcolm sniffed, nudging Jon with an elbow as he settled back against him. “At least you weren’t enamored with Snow White or some such. Sleepy, Sneezy, Grumpy....”

“Grumpy’s taken.”

Malcolm knocked his head into Jon’s shoulder. “Only once in a while.”

“Sexy.”

“There was no dwarf by the name of ‘Sexy’. And if there were, it wouldn’t have been a children’s story.”

“You are. Sexy, “ Jon said, clasping each of Malcolm's hands with his own and wrapping all arms together over his bare stomach. “Very.”

“Mmm, really?” Malcolm nearly purred, leaning into Jon’s nuzzle along his neck. “Even talking about little bearded men, on the back deck, in the fog?”

“As long as they aren’t actually _around_ , then especially on the back deck, in the fog.” Jon’s voice dropped to a near-whisper, making Malcolm feel as if they were the only two people on Earth. “Other places, too, I’d be happy to test it out. Shower, bedroom... bed.”

Malcolm felt a familiar and welcome tug throughout his core, ending but not stopping in his groin. He felt Jon’s body echo the moment behind him. The rest of him relaxed and wound up at the same time -- the morning was about to get inconceivably better, if that were even possible.

“I do owe you a spectacular welcome home, after all,” Jon mumbled between laying languid kisses full of promise underneath his ear. Before his hands could wander any further over Malcolm’s body, Malcolm slipped forward and stood, slowly but decisively, hovering over Jon and pulling him up into a long, slow kiss.

“Right then. Let’s get the party started, love.” The heady gleam in Jon’s eye almost gave Malcolm pause, but he certainly didn’t want to give the neighbors a show. Keeping hold of Jon's hand, he led him across the deck and they slipped through the door, leaving it very slightly ajar.

Welcome home, indeed.

* * * * *

Birds, squirrels, that neighbor’s cat. So much to see and do and check on, every day. Several times a day. Neverending. They were always around, somewhere, and had to be found. It could really be exhausting.

Porthos enjoyed his job. Here, or on the ship, or at the Big Ship by the water with all the people, people who ruffled his ears and spoke nice to him. Some of them even paid him with cheese. Always had to make sure things were in their place, that both _his_ People were happy and safe. When both People were there, of course. He knew he was expected to take care of the one Daddy when the other one was away, and waited patiently -- which was very, _very_ hard -- for him to return. He always returned, sometimes it took forEVER though.

He barreled out of the bush at the side of the house, sniffing. Something was missing. He ambled over to the steps and... well, there’s the problem. His People were gone. He took in the air around the steps as he climbed them, one by one. Cups of stuff, still sitting. One for each. No fear, no trouble in their scents, though. Happiness, excitement... oh, the wrestling smell. Okay. He was sure they were fine. Maybe they were going back to sleep, as often happened when they were so active.

Ah, the door was still open. As he approached, a scent-filled breeze blew across the deck, and the latch clicked shut. Porthos snorted deeply at the seam. Yep, inside. He scratched but couldn’t get it to open up again. Drat.

So he sat, and he yipped. It was no surprise that no one came, since wrestling for his People was like hunting stuff for him, taking all their attention. A dapple of sunlight reflected on the glass, and Porthos pawed at the mat in front of the door to rough it up, circling twice, three times, to get it just so. Settling down with a huff, he continued to sample the light wind, trying very, very hard to ignore the smell of his fellow Protector Dog from across the street as it drifted around him. Now was not the time for personal interests and idle gossip. Now was the time to guard and wait.

Yes, Porthos loved his job, but he sometimes wished he had help as he got older, because keeping track of two of them in different places was getting taxing. He was only one Dog, after all. Silly People... they were a lot of work, but he loved them both, and was very, very glad that everyone was home.

He laid his head down in a beam of sunlight with a sigh -- they’d eventually figure things out. Including letting him back inside with them, where he belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> There's no way in the world that Mareel won't know who wrote this prior to the reveal, so these notes are pretty specific to her.
> 
> I was absolutely thrilled to get Mareel's name in this exchange, as she's one of my BFFs and a constant A/R companion. *waves* She requested not only A/R, but mentioned slice-of-life specifically and I knew immediately just what I wanted to do. This story is AU and from my own sandbox headcanon, with which Mareel is a little bit familiar. Hopefully it stands alone enough for everyone else.
> 
> Undying thanks to MJ, as without her MalcolmMuse I would not have developed one of my own.
> 
> The title also came to me late in writing. I know quite well the particular angst the canon episode by the same name causes for her. While this story has nothing to do with that, I'm hoping that it helps her reclaim that marvelous -- and meaningful -- word for our boys.
> 
> Mareel, you can go "Home" again. :-)


End file.
